"The Maid’s Little Girl Destroyed the Mafia Wedding Cake — What She Found Inside Shocked Everyone

Roman stalked through the deserted, red-lit hallways of the second floor. The sounds of a massive firefight echoed from the courtyard below, shaking the floorboards.

He found the trail of discarded white silk leading to the master suite.

Roman kicked the heavy oak door open, his gun raised.

Elena was standing by the safe hidden behind a painting. She had torn off the bottom half of her bulky wedding dress, revealing black tactical pants underneath. She was hurriedly throwing stacks of cash, encrypted hard drives, and forged passports into a duffel bag.

She turned around, raising a silver pistol, but Roman was faster.

He fired a single shot.

The bullet shattered Elena’s wrist. She screamed, dropping the gun and clutching her bleeding arm.

"Elena Rostova," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he stepped into the room. "Or should I say, Katerina Volkov?"

Elena collapsed against the wall, her perfect hair wild and matted with sweat. She laughed, a high, desperate sound. "You always were too smart for your own good, Roman. But you're too late. Julian took down your grid. My father’s men are flooding the estate. Chicago belongs to the Volkovs now."

"You spent two years sleeping in my bed," Roman said, stepping closer, the barrel of his gun aimed directly at her chest. "Two years playing the perfect, innocent fiancée. All to put a gas canister in a cake?"

"My father didn't want a war," Elena spat, her eyes burning with hatred. "He wanted a clean transition. You die at the altar, I become the grieving widow, and Julian helps me inherit the Sokolov empire legally. We would have owned the city by midnight."

"Julian," Roman scoffed. "You trusted a fixer with a gambling addiction. That was your first mistake."

"He got us this far!" Elena yelled.

"No," Roman corrected her. "He got you a one-way ticket to a concrete box."